Seeing you
by Dhorcas
Summary: The on-and-off love of his eternal life had gone a bit too far this time, and just when he was about to switch everything off he found a girl with the saddest eyes he had ever seen. He thought he was a monster. She would show him what true monsters looked like, and that being a monster was completely different from not being human. [AU]
1. Chapter 1

Joe was looking at us as if we were some kind of seventh wonder. Really, I was kind of new to the whole supernatural world (well, not so new any more, you get my drift) but I was starting to feel as a monkey in the zoo. I couldn't understand why she found us so fascinating when all I could feel was doom and gloom. This blood bond thing was a fucking hall of mirrors, it made you do things you didn't want to do, it robbed you of your free will and messed things up royally; at least for him. I was pretty sure that I was messed up well before the blood sharing started. Honestly, I didn't stand a chance. What was I supposed to do, huh? The fact is that at first I did what had become second nature, that is, I blew him off. I won't deny that it was just a tinny bit harder than usual, you've seen the guy, he's drop-dead gorgeous. But his were not the first blue eyes I had ever seen and that sculpted jaw was too good to be honest. So, yeah, my "bite me" T-shirt was meant to do the job for me, only I didn't know back then what a good job that was.

I don't remember at what point he started to call me 'sad eyes,' and I won't lie to you, I thought it was a crappy way of hitting on someone. But then I looked again and when I saw a pair of sad eyes looking back at me, I started to think that maybe he was as lonely as he seemed, even if it was ridiculous to imagine a guy like him having to spend a single minute of his life alone if he didn't want to. He asked for bourbon, and I wasn't surprised, it suited him. So naturally, I decided to show off and asked: '16 or 20?' Now, that was a shock if I ever saw one, I would have laughed if I had more that two minutes to spare, but the club was packed and the usual crowd of spoiled disgusting hyenas were at my heels. The truth is that I was also testing the waters, a sort of childish challenge to see if he was as cool as he thought he was. And boy, was I in for a treat. He threw me back a challenge of his own, and when his smile reached his eyes for the first time and he said 'well, say A.H. Hirsch and you'll have me all impressed', I knew he was trouble. So, I did the most out of character thing I had done in years and sassed, 'I would if I thought you could afford it' and even winked at him.

Charlie chose that moment to show up and start pestering me about something or other. I was annoyed and grateful at the same time. My interactions with customers were usually much shorter and clinical, no chit-chat, no sass and absolutely no winks. So I'll admit I was out of my depth. Yes, I knew my way around bourbon, hence the question about the age he preferred (16 or 20) and my knowledge about the mythical A.H. Hirsch Reserve, but that was about all I had to offer and I was fresh out of jokes. Saved by the irritating bell, as it were. I left Charlie to flirt her way out of this one, assuming she would be up to the task, as usual. Bending just a bit too much over the bar (the girl had assets, what can I say) and waving her blond hair in a seductive way I could't have managed after years of training, she took to it enthusiastically—I have mentioned how gorgeous he looked, right?

And off I went to try and solve the last crisis. The girls hated me; it was no secret. I was the odd woman out in a club where every waitress and bartender worked their asses off, literally, for a little extra cash. To put it simply, _Mike's_ offered much more than drinks and music, and the very young girls that worked there knew it from the start and even counted on it. I was the oldest, by far, and I wasn't interested in money. I actually wanted nothing to do with the club, the job, the extra 'perks' and, especially, with the boss. But alas, I wasn't given a choice. I was forced to work there at least until my brother did his time. Mike had strong-armed me into working for him unless I wanted my little bro to be ripped to pieces in the joint. As he often reminded me, I was lucky he simply wanted to keep me around and didn't force me into any other sort of agreement. Well, I felt the farthest thing from lucky, let me tell you. Bran would be in prison for the foreseeable future, and he depended on Mike's connections to stay alive and healthy, so yeah, I wasn't going to risk it and therefore I was trapped in that bloody place. I don't know how much the other girls knew, but they knew enough. I wouldn't say they envied me; after all Mike and his thugs beat the shit out of me pretty regularly, and I had ended up in the hospital three times in the last four years. Just a hint, Ron, my least favourite of Mike's minions, used to call me smart mouth, so you can imagine what was my never-ending source of troubles: I never knew when to shut the hell up. The thing is that when I was not being slapped around, I was allowed to dress as I liked and wasn't required to do anything other than serving drinks. My attire sent the message to back off loud and clear, shabby jeans, any T-shirt I could find and just the barest hint of make-up (come on, don't judge, I wasn't a complete savage). Nevertheless, for some reason, my tips were usually quite awesome and I was known for not putting up with anyone's bullshit. My theory was that the guys that frequented our less than respectable establishment were so used to get whatever they wanted that they mistook my awful attitude for a challenge and kept coming back for more, idiots.

The current crisis was that we were running out of beer, go figure, college boys were back in town for the holidays I guess. I spent an incredibly boring time solving the problem, calling in favors with providers, and dealing with the sort of things my boss should pay a manager for. When I went back to the bar, the crazyness had dialed down a bit and most guys were either dancing or choosing their game for the night, yep, I'm not talking about darts either. But there he was, nursing an empty glass and looking right at me, Charlie nowhere in sight. I started the usual 'what can I get you' routine, and he had the gall to pout.

'Just when I thought we were bonding over bourbon you leave me in the claws of Baywatch Blondie,' he said.

I laughed, sue me.

'Well, duty called, plus, Charlie may not be the brightest but she is perfectly capable of pouring you a drink.' I paused for effect and then loud whispered, 'trust me, I've seen it'.

What the hell was wrong with me that night? I blame that faraway look, that devilish smile, and a six-year drought.

'And what about you?', he asked.

Too easy, I thought, but I went and answered anyway, 'oh, I'm definitely the brightest, plus, I'm also capable of providing drinks, so, what can I get you?'

He stood there silent, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes, just as a spider would look at a weird fly, and then said, 'Pappy will do'. I didn't even bother to ask if he wanted the cheaper 13-year-old version, he looked like he could afford the $100 pour and had the taste to appreciate it, so I wouldn't insult a fellow bourbon connoisseur by asking. I bent down, retrieved the precious almost full bottle from its secret spot behind the bar and poured. I felt watched throughout the process, so I finished with a 'there you go' and went to return Pappy to his resting place. 'Wait', he stopped me, 'leave the bottle'.

To this I obviously raised an eyebrow, and then he did the weirdest thing. I didn't see him moving but suddenly he seemed to be much closer, reaching for me over the bar, and his eyes seemed to grow larger until they were all I could see. He repeated 'leave the bottle' in a deep voice and I felt a weird pull that told me it was ok to do as he said, but stubborn as I am I answered:

'Hey look, I'm happy to keep pouring but I could get into a lot of trouble for letting one of these out of my sight, so, not gonna happen'. The kind of trouble that ended up black and blue for a week, so no dice baby.

When I saw his shocked look I guessed he wasn't used to not getting his way, especially with women. Later I would learn that that had been his first unsuccessful attempt at compelling me, the bastard, and to get free bourbon! Really?


	2. Chapter 2

Joe is starting to piss me off. Honestly, I get it, we're hot, but she should stop looking at us dumbfounded, cut the bullshit and start telling us what the hell is so wonderful about this blood bond thing. If not for me, at least for her, because I couldn't care less. She's dead set on believing that something is wrong with me; that I'm being forced into doing stuff I wouldn't willingly do. Oh, how wrong she is. I guess she's so used to thinking so little of herself that she's going unusually stupidly about this. And let me tell you how actually unusual that is, because this girl is as smart as they get. However, when it concerns yours truly, she's spectacularly blind. Hey, don't blame her, I'm impossibly handsome, IQs drop around me faster than panties, and that's saying something.

In fact, it was her idea to come see Joe, and I'll admit that it sounded reasonable because this thing is getting weird as hell. I've been around weird for over a hundred years now, and yet I have never heard about what's happening to us, so trust me when I say that I want answers. The difference is that while she expects this to go awfully wrong, I feel all warm and tingly inside, as if my spidey sense was high-fiving me for being such a lucky bastard. And yeah, things are fucking complicated right now, and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel is missing (you know, milk-carton missing) but at the end of the day, she's here, and for the longest two years of my life I thought I'd never see her again.

That night I was just looking for a snack, and _Mike's_ seemed just perfect for my special needs. It reeked of sex and alcohol and I'm not a picky eater so I went for it. It had too much class to be a whorehouse, but the waitresses dressed in skimpy outfits looked easy as pie, and well, let's just say that the female customers didn't fall far behind. Naturally, that was my first option because I've got standards, have you seen me? I don't pay for sex. But first things first, or better yet, first thirsts first, and surely I could find a glass of bourbon with my name on it while I surveyed the merchandise.

Suddenly, there she was, sticking out as a sore thumb. The first thing I noticed was her ass; I'm a guy, so sue me. She wore the rattiest jeans ever, but that ass would have looked good wearing a sack. The fact that all the other hot girls there were trying so hard to look as slutty as possible while she obviously didn't give a shit about what she was wearing made the owner of that glorious ass even more interesting. At some point I looked up and her long brown reddish hair only increased her chances to become the lucky chick that would cater to my every need before sunrise. And then, she turned around and blew the rest of the candidates that were already drooling around me out of the fucking water; hell, she blew them out of the fucking planet. The 'bite me' T-shirt was the damn cherry on top. Oh baby, I'm going to bite you all right, but first I'm going to rip that shirt open because those two are natural beauties and I intend to get fully acquainted with them.

Sorry, I got carried away for a moment there. Well, to cut things short, she was gorgeous from top to bottom (pun abso-fucking-lutely intended) and wasn't even trying. I should mention that I had been fiddling with the idea of turning off my emotions for a while. A guy can only take so much and I was sick and tired of being the punching bag of the on-and-off love of my life. But then I saw those eyes; dark, soulful, slightly slanted and so fucking sad, and my interest was officially picked. In retrospective I think that it was in that precise moment that somehow I knew I was done for.

I don't even remember the first words I said to her, something like, 'hey, Sad Eyes, what does a guy need to do to get a bourbon around here'. I wanted to kick myself, because what kind of lousy pick up line is that? I'm mister smooth and mellow, I invented this shit. For a second there I saw her looking at me puzzled, and then she really looked at me. I mean that she didn't give me the once-over I'm used to, the one that says 'come get me, you're already halfway there'. I would say that I felt naked, but naked is second nature to me, and that intelligent, soul-searching stare was making me feel anything but. Then she simply asked, '16 or 20?' Had I not already decided to spend the night between her legs, that would have done the trick. I'm a sucker for a woman who actually knows her bourbon, literally, a sucker. So I sent one of my infamous smiles her way and teased myself some more, 'well, say A.H. Hirsch and you'll have me all impressed'. That's why when she answered, 'I would if I thought you could afford it' and winked at me, my friend downstairs was ready for me to jump over the counter and show her exactly how impressed I was. But then some busty blonde interrupted us, and Sad Eyes all but ran out from there leaving me mightily turned on and quite annoyed.

The blonde's disdainful look magically metamorphosed when she saw me. She wasn't hard on the eyes, and she wasn't wearing much either, but I had my mind set on some brunette deliciousness and no combo of oversized bra cup and fake eyelashes was going to change it.

'I'm (place name here, I can't remember for the life of me). What can I get you handsome?' I assume she thought she was being sultry, but I was bored in two seconds flat.

'You can get me your friend over there', and I pointed in the general direction of Miss Awesome Ass to make myself clear.

'Oh, she won't give you what you want, but I can', pause for effect, 'and I won't even charge you'.

Jeez, sleazy much? Those pouty lips with way too much red lipstick on were doing nothing for me.

'Hon, I seriously doubt you know what I want. Do yourself a favour and ask her to come back, will you?'

It's not that I was being purposefully rude, I understood how hard it had to be to earn your tips next to a damn goddess who didn't even need to wear make-up, and any other day I wouldn't say no to a blond bimbo served on a platter. It's just that said goddess had made me curious and I really wanted my bourbon.

'Suit yourself, she's only the bartender', said the bimbo, quite ticked off, I must add.

And off she went, B minus for effort girl. The only problem was that she didn't do as I told her to. I could hear her from where I was and she didn't even try to talk to my bartender, who was nowhere in sight by then. That's free will for you, lesson learned.

A few sorry attempts at arousing my interest and other easier parts of my anatomy later, the hotties around me (both amateur and professional) seemed to get the message to leave me the fuck alone. To be honest, I didn't know where my good, easy to please mood of the night had scampered off to, but I wasn't looking for a simple snack anymore, I was craving a taste of sassy 'only bartender'.

That's when I saw her come back from wherever she had been hiding. She looked mighty pissed but fine as hell. The bar was less busy and she spotted me almost immediately. Her 'what can I get you?' summoned all sorts of inappropriate answers that my intuition told me wouldn't fly with this bird. So I resorted to my nicknaming routine and fired, 'Just when I thought we were bonding over bourbon you leave me in the claws of Baywatch Blondie.'

Her laughter took me by surprise, who knew Sad Eyes had it in her.

'Well, duty called, plus, Charlie may not be the brightest but she is perfectly capable of pouring you a drink', then she came closer and I swear I got a whiff of fucking sunshine, 'trust me, I've seen it'.

So who's Charlie again? Oh yeah, the goddess had a sense of humour. 'And what about you?' I asked. She smiled then, an honest to God beautiful smile, no sultriness, no fake pouting, and still that sadness.

'Oh, I'm definitely the brightest, plus, I'm also capable of providing drinks, so, what can I get you?'

Baby, I don't doubt it for a second.

I couldn't stop looking at her. She had something, and she had it in spades. What was it about her? Yeah, I know I've said a couple of times already that she was stupid hot, but there was something else, hiding underneath the surface, I could feel it in my bones and wanted more.

I went for my drink of choice 'Pappy will do,' and when she bent over, to pick up the bottle I guess, I nearly fell off my stool. You're killing me here girl. She poured in a fluid motion and finished with an almost shy 'there you go' without even looking at me. I stopped her and asked her to leave the bottle, to which she raised an eyebrow. And before she could do or say anything else I decided to compel her to leave Pappy where I could see him.

It was not to get free drinks, I'm loaded and I'm not what you could call thrifty; plus I was going to leave her the tip of the decade, in many different ways. You could say I couldn't stop myself. You see, when compelling someone you learn an awful lot about them if you know how to, and if you haven't guessed, I'm a pro. You feel their resistance, how headstrong or weak they are, what's their hardest pill to swallow, and how far you can take them before breaking them. She had this mysterious way about her, and finding out more was too easy to pass up.

'Hey look, I'm happy to keep pouring but I could get into a lot of trouble for letting one of these out of my sight, so, not gonna happen', colour me surprised.

Two options there, either she was a witch (I wasn't feeling that vibe of power, so unlikely) or she was wearing vervain (weird, why the hell would she?). The thing that didn't even register back then was that my first reaction had been wanting to know why sadness had turned into fear in a blink of those amazing eyes. That wasn't my last attempt at compelling her, but it was the first time I remember thinking that she would be trouble, only my favourite kind.


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently I'm a weirdo. Nothing new there, I know, but hey, I at least expected that the one good thing about a simple human girl getting involved with all-powerful supernatural beings would be a significant decrease of my weirdness level. No such luck. It seems that humans don't blood-bond. It's not that we choose not to, it's simply that we are not capable of it; you know, like, AT ALL. Well, guess what, I have.

Joe is oh so scientifically thrilled about it. Me? Not so much. The logical conclusion could be that I'm not totally human, that's the first thing we both said. But Joe had thought of that too, so she did some witchy test and got back to us with the happy news: I'm a full-blooded Sapiens Sapiens. Not a drop of supernatural anything. Back to square one. What the hell is going on? Because bonded we are. For God's sake, just yesterday I could hear his fucking thoughts in my head, in his own voice! Do you know how that feels? It's like a sort of annoying itch you can't scratch on the back of your head. And yeah, it led to a steamy R-rated session in a public restroom where we scratched each other's itches plenty, but that's not my point, come on focus.

He's surprisingly calm about all this, and it's freaking me out. His usual smugness is back in full force and I would bet my last bottle of bourbon that he's two minutes away from some 'I told you you were special' bullshit. But he's wrong, I'm not, have never been, will never be. Actually, he's been quite thick about that since the very beginning. Otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation.

That first night, after he tried to compel me, I didn't get much chance to talk to him again. He knew how to drink his bourbon, not as you would a shot but savouring it, enjoying the taste, so I just had to pour for him twice more. I even try to send Charlie his way to do it for me once but she just came back saying that the 'sexy asshole' (I'm quoting here) kept asking for me. All the while I felt his impossible eyes on me, and it was unnerving. The club was busy as hell and I tried to focus on attending the usual brand of jerks asking for a blowjob and feeling oh so naughty and original, as if I hadn't heard the joke a thousand times already. Unsurprisingly enough they were usually surrounded by a band of idiots that laughed at the wittiness of their stupid friend and, also as usual, I responded with a chastising 'hey, don't laugh at the guy, if he wants to order a girly drink, it's perfectly fine, we see all sorts here'. Enter raucous laughter of the friends turned traitors and furious blush of the original jerk. For some reason the only detail that registered with me was a hint of a panty-dropping smirk at the other end of the bar; yeah, you guessed, I didn't know back then but of course he could hear perfectly fine what was being said on my end.

The night went on, and I won't deny that my eyes kept finding their way to where he was lazily drinking in a world of his own. I lost count of how many different gorgeous girls tried to hit on him. I assumed they failed because I had been in the job long enough to know a thing or two about body language, and while they were all practically throwing their various assets in his face, he appeared utterly disinterested. To be honest, I would have thought he was playing for the other team had I not felt naked every single time I caught him looking at me. I say caught and I probably shouldn't, because that may give you the false impression that he was trying to hide, which believe me, he was not. It was as if he was admiring and studying me all at once, and since I've never been a big fan of drawing attention, I couldn't leave fast enough when my shift ended.

I made my way to the back office where my leather jacket was safely hidden behind a few half-empty boxes (did you miss the part where I said that the other girls hated me? My things had ended up ruined one too many times for it to be a coincidence). I picked up my stuff and quickly left through the back door.

I spotted him immediately. I would have needed to be blind, brain-dead or, well, dead in general not to notice him. He also had a leather jacket on, and Jesus, it was so fucking unfair that I was going to burn mine as soon as I got home, because I clearly wasn't doing it justice. To make matters worse, he was casually leaning on a muscle car that I could have sworn he had chosen because it was a perfect match for his eyes.

I'm not a car person, in fact I don't know shit about them, I had one because there was no other way to move around safely in that backwater town, but even I, who at the time was usually dead from the waist down, had to admit that the image was positively sinful. There were many cars in the parking lot, the club was still packed, but there was no one in sight and he looked like he was waiting for someone. For a second there I fantasised with the thought that he was waiting for me, but of course that couldn't be it.

Just when I was deciding on the best way to get to my own totally unremarkable cheap-ass car while avoiding going anywhere near him, I heard the door open and close behind me, and a hand grabbed my arm and turned me around. Have I told you about Ron? 5-feet-9 of brute force, zero brains and a legendary bad temper. He also had a mean right fist with the bad habit of finding its way to my stomach far too often. Still I kept pushing my luck, because there's only so much stupid a smart girl can take, and well, I had nothing to lose; I knew he wouldn't go too far, he was scared shitless of his boss. Join the club, doofus.

'The boss wants you', and there goes my night, I thought. Not that I had plans anyway.

'What's new pussycat?', I mumbled. I told you, I couldn't keep my mouth shut, and Ron was a moron but he knew it.

'Oh please, tell me this is going to be one of those nights when you don't shut your pretty little mouth', see? He knew.

'If I didn't know better I'd think you enjoy it'. Shit, time to back off, I don't feel like being beaten before I even piss off Mike. 'Oh wait, I do know better...Anyway, let's go see the boss, but how about you let go of me first? Wouldn't want Mike to see bruises he hasn't ordered you to put there, right?'

Ron seemed to hesitate, I guess his one and only neuron was trying to assess the damage he had already inflicted on my arm, wondering how much it was going to cost him, and trying to find a comeback all at the same time; you get the idea, exhausting.

Suddenly, he looked behind me and then back at me suspiciously (it was ridiculous really, no poker face at all). It was then that I remembered my handsome stranger and his sexy car, and I quickly connected the dots because there was still no one around, as far as I could see, and I knew Ron would think that he was waiting for me. I didn't know the guy, but I didn't want to get him into trouble, and Ron was major trouble. I wasn't allowed to fraternize with anyone that wasn't previously approved by Mike, especially men, and the thug currently hurting my arm was the fucking keeper of the extremely short list of my approved acquaintances.

'Hey Ron, are we going to keep Mike waiting forever, or what?', lame, I know, but I really wanted this over with.

'Why, you in a hurry to get somewhere?', that was a smirk that would make any woman long for a chastity belt.

'I've been on my feet for eight hours, so the only place I want to get to is my couch, can we speed this up? And again, can I have my arm back?', he gave me what I imagine he thought was a scrutinizing look. Actually, he just looked plain dumb squinting those beady eyes of his, and couldn't have pried into the secrets of a three-year old, at least not by looking at them. Finally though he released me, and with a last look towards the parking lot he opened the door and waited until I was inside to follow me. What a bloody gentleman.

Two hours later I left the club through the back door. I was a bit roughed up and fucking exhausted. The parking lot was empty but for my car, and for some reason I felt disappointed.

Just when I thought there were no more tears left, I cried myself to sleep that night. You know, hope is a bitch.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm going to start ripping heads off any minute now. Guess what, she's even more special than I thought she was, oh shocker...not. I want answers and I want them now. I've been so damn lucky it was her I bonded with, because this stuff is powerful. So much so that, had I known the implications of blood bonding with a human I would have made sure to kill each and everyone I have ever fed from. I'm not my brother, so no fucking idea of how long that list would be. I might be a monster, but I'm no serial killer, so no creepy journals or closets full of names. Well, technically I am a serial killer; in the last two hundred years I've killed hundreds, probably thousands; what I mean is that I don't get all weird about it. Do you have a list with the names of all the chickens you've ever eaten?No, right? Yeah, yeah, I know, most chickens don't even have names, let alone feelings, or dreams, or anyone who will miss them, so I can't compare. She'd be proud that I came to that conclusion by myself and probably would hint at patting my head. I would growl threateningly, she'd raise that damn eyebrow, shoot me back my own smirk and I would end up fucking her against the nearest wall.

That's how we roll. And it's wrong, because, you know, I have a girlfriend and it's not her, as she likes to remind me. But see if I care. I swear, I'm not a cheater, have never been, not until she came back, but I can't stop myself. I'd give anything to change the way things are, but I've been racking my brain and I can't find a solution that doesn't end with her dead on the ground. That image is the star of all my nightmares.

You would think I'd stay away to keep her safe, because I love her too fucking much to even contemplate that scenario, but I can't. It's stronger than me. Hence our current predicament with Joe telling us how one in a billion she is, me nodding with an 'I told you so' on the tip of my tongue, and she biting her lower lip not to drown Joe in questions. Because if there is one thing my sweet girl knows how to do is question you to death. That curious mind of hers won't stop until we get all the answers we came for, so pause the head ripping. Why are we blood bonded if she's human and I'm not? Why has it never happened before? What are the other perks of our situation? And I say other because, boy, not feeling the ever-present hunger for even a minute is bliss; plus, accidentally projecting into her head that I had a massive hard-on and it was her damn fault for wearing that skirt and moving like a siren had an awesome result. Ask the restroom counter.

Now that I think about it, I'm used to feeling rather frustrated around her. It all started that first night, when I tried to compel her and couldn't, when I decided I was going to spend a ridiculous amount of time pounding her in every conceivable position, and ended up dissatisfied after a lacklustre oral session with Baywatch Blondie in the alley behind _Mike's_. Not even the prospect of feeding on the blond unnamed waitress that did such a poor job on her knees helped me whet my appetite. Don't get me wrong, I did feed on her. In fact, the only thing that stopped me from draining her dry was the fact that I had made up my mind. I would come back the next day and try my luck again with Sad Eyes, so I didn't want her on her guard because her co-worker was missing.

Speaking of said co-worker, in case you were wondering, no, I didn't pay her for her other services. There was no need really, she found me in the parking lot and threw herself at me. One would think that after blowing her off all night the girl would have some dignity, but alas, it was her who finally blew me (ups, sorry, rude). I had been waiting long enough for Sad Eyes to come back after that fucking oaf took her to see their boss, and I'm not a patient guy. So when Blondie offered I thought, why the hell not? I should have known better. I don't mean to abuse the chicken metaphor, but indulge me for a second. It's like when you have your mind set on deliciously spicy hot wings and you get boiled cabbage. It just doesn't cut it. Anyway, my hot-wings girl even wore a leather jacket, for God's sake. Honestly, can you blame me?

I spent the night at the best motel I could find (which was not much) going over the last few hours. I convinced myself that I wanted to stick around because I needed to find out everything I could about how she had avoided my compulsion. After all I had compelled the blonde not to scream and to forget the biting part and it had worked just fine, I didn't even break a sweat. The truth is that I was curious, and given that I had been mostly numb since I left Virginia, the feeling was quite welcome.

I didn't like one bit the way in which that thug had grabbed her. The dear Ron would soon occupy a privileged spot in my casualty list; yep, I do remember that name, you'll see why. Had I thought I could compel her to forget, I would have flashed in front of them and compelled the guy to get lost, if only because he was spoiling my plans for the night. But then again, it was none of my business and my first and foremost self-imposed guideline is not to expose my nature unless needed. In any case I assumed that she was screwing her boss on the side and that's why she was 'only the bartender' in a place where all the staff seemed to double-shift. That's ok, I'm not jealous baby.

When I went back to _Mike's_ the next night, a lot of things had changed. Sad Eyes was nowhere to be found, at least not the shabby-dressed goddess that had aroused my... interest. In her place was a good old-fashioned temptress dressed to kill. Barely there black skirt, long toned legs in fishnets, fuck-me heels, and a blood red tight top with a plunging neckline: the whole shebang. Only her eyes looked the same, so damn sad. The heavy make-up could not cover that soul-deep ache, although to anyone else it did a pretty good job of covering up the fucking black eye she was sporting. I wasn't anyone else though.

'Hey Sad Eyes, how's Pappy doing tonight? You ready to trust me with him?' I went from the fastest hard-on ever to spectacularly furious in milliseconds.

She turned her head my way and her eyes widened, after which she immediately winced, if only for an instant. The girl was a pro at hiding pain, so this wasn't her first.

'A couple more months and I might let you pour all by yourself', enter that beautiful sad smile again, 'under supervision of course.'

'Be careful, I might take you up on that offer. I'm Damon,' and I offered her my hand over the counter. She looked at it briefly and then back at me with those piercing brown eyes. I remember thinking that this was how people had to feel when I focused my attention on them. Anyway, whatever she thought she saw in me was good enough for her to accept my hand.

'It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you did', and looking me in the eye she gave me what I wanted, 'I'm Deirdre, but don't go telling people about it'.

Deirdre, how fitting that she bore the name of a tragic heroine. I held her hand for as long as I could without looking suspicious. No, I hadn't turned mushy all of a sudden, I was just testing one of my theories. Witches react to vampires quite noticeably; at least to vampires they don't know.

Her hand was warm, she still smelled like sunlight, and I could easily imagine a mile-long line of men who would gladly lay their lives at her feet just for a night between those legs. They certainly hadn't left her alone when she was wearing those ratty jeans; dressed like she was on that second night, they stood no chance in hell. I knew I didn't. But she was no witch, so plan B, where was she hiding the vervain? Oh, I planned to have so much fun looking for it.

I was kind of hoping that she would bent down again to pick up the bottle of Pappy, but she had too much class and gracefully managed to grab it by crouching just a bit. This time she did look at me after pouring, 'there you go'.

I couldn't help trying my hand, and without even the barest hint of a smirk I said, 'You didn't need the femme fatal get-up, you know? Those jeans suited you just fine'. That's me, crossing lines when I shouldn't. I expected her to blush at the compliment, that's what I'm used to with another pair of brown eyes anyway. I even expected her to tell me to shove my cheesy lines. I did not expect her eyes to get even sadder, nor for her to answer, 'my boss didn't seem to think so'. It seemed I wouldn't leave town for a while.


	5. Chapter 5

Damon is really mad at me. Freaking boo-hoo, I'm quite mad at him myself. Joe's answers to our questions have amounted to one thing so far: zilch, jack shit, niente, nada. So I don't get why I'm the only one who's freaking out about this blood bond thing. I might be a newbie in all this, but my only info on supernatural links comes from the infamous 'sire bond' (yes, apparently that's a thing), and it's not pretty. Free will goes out the window, you're forced to do stuff you wouldn't do in a million years, and the only way to escape it is by turning into a psychopath. Dying works too. So thanks, but no thanks.

I know that so far this one looks different though. I mean, I'm over the moon that my blood kills off his hunger, and that he can feel almost human while keeping his superhero powers. Hearing his thoughts now and then is not so bad either. He does seem to have a one-track mind, or at least lust-related thoughts are the only ones I seem to be in tune with. Blame Damon for that, I was quite the nun up until I met him. But I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, and something tells me that it's going to be Bigfoot sized. Plus there's the fact that he's my best friend, and I know him, and no matter what he might have done or what he thinks about himself, Damon is a one-woman kind of guy. So, not a cheater. Ever. No exceptions allowed.

Have I told you that he has a girlfriend? And not any girlfriend, mind you. She's the love of his immortal life too. She has left him hanging more times than I can count, she has hurt him, stepped all over his all-too-human heart, abandoned him to die alone, and simply dumped him, and he's still head over heels for her and would jump off a cliff if she asked. She's beautiful, doe-eyed, perfect, and a vampire to boot. And yeah, I might have sounded a little too bitter there, but I love him, I see him, and she doesn't deserve him. Funny how things work, he thinks it's the other way around.

And who am I? I'm just a girl with too much emotional baggage that he met in a bar the last time he was abandoned. We somehow became best friends, and one thing led to the other, which I entirely blame on him because, have you seen Damon? I have seen me, and there's no chance in hell that anything like our whirlwind mind-blowing hot-sex marathons has anything to do with my laughable sex appeal. Let me give you a hint there, 'Plain Jane' is not a middle name, but if it were, my lovely parents would have certainly chosen it.

So, to sum things up, he's cheating on the most perfect woman on Earth, who he happens to love like crazy, with a simple homely human girl that couldn't even find a proper job, didn't enter college until she was in her late twenties, and was on the brink of becoming a sex slave when he met her; that is, when he met me. And when I say cheating, I mean having sex on every available surface all around campus. Now, go on, tell me nothing sounds wrong with that picture.

Damon loves me, in his own way. I'm one of his best friends after all, of his few friends, period. But this crazy lust makes us act as, well, I would say horny teenagers, but I really wouldn't know. I spent my early teens daydreaming about the perfect guy who would come along and sweep me off my feet. Too much Disney, yep. I never thought I would spend the next years trying to dodge my all-American perfect boyfriend every time he tried to do just that, sweep me off, literally. For so long sex was only violence, no horniness for me.

So you see, all evidence points to our current situation being a result of blood sharing. That's what I told him, and that's why he's so pissed at me. Some bullshit about me thinking that he's a pushover and can't make his own decisions. As for me, I need to stop this, and Damon refuses to see what this fucking him all over the place is doing to me. I fought so hard not to join the rest of the girls at _Mike's_ in their extracurricular activities, and now I feel like his dirty little secret. I've always known that I was not good enough, but now, for the first time, it's like he knows it too.

It wasn't always like this. Not even when my personal spiral of abuse and beatings somehow left me dressed like a slut, with a black eye, and way too much make-up while pouring him a drink. I had thought I would never see my sexy stranger again, and to be honest, I was kind of hoping I wouldn't. Especially after my conversation with Mike made it clear that I was working in a club that catered to all sorts of needs, and that I at least had to look the part if I didn't want to end up actually providing extra services myself. My boss was polite like that, you know, he left it to his thugs to specify that I was to behave unless I wanted to start sucking guys off on a daily basis. And I didn't, so I asked Bobby, a girl my size, for a 'cute little outfit', and she came through.

When I saw him I wanted to hide and to do a little victory dance all at the same time, it was confusing as hell. I kept going over my skimpy clothes in my head and praying that my painful black eye wouldn't show. He didn't seem to notice, and after a few witty remarks he told me his name. Damon. Apparently, he couldn't have a normal unattractive name as most guys. I almost refused to shake his hand, too personal for me, I never touched the patrons, but I looked at him and there it was, that oh so familiar loneliness, so I threw caution to the wind and gave him my name in return.

I poured for him (Pappy again in case you were wondering) and he said just the right words.

'You didn't need the femme fatal get-up, you know? Those jeans suited you just fine'.

Please, understand me, had I heard that line on any other day, from anyone else, I would have probably blown the hell off of him. But it was the right time I guess, and the right guy, and the right way of saying it. He didn't smile, his tone wasn't patronising, and he didn't sound like he was trying to get into my good graces either. He seemed genuine.

My defences fell apart like a stupid house of cards, and I muttered, 'my boss didn't seem to think so'.

'Well, then he's a moron, or possibly blind', he answered matter-of-factly while he sipped his bourbon. And just when I was trying to decide whether smiling would hurt too much, he added, 'what's with the black eye by the way?'

My heartbeat went probably through the fucking roof, and my make-up became my best friend, because I was sure that I was white as a sheet at the moment, and my black eye would have completed the ensemble to make me look like a frigging panda.

It would have been easy to fall back into old routines and blame it on my own clumsiness, but it had been so long since anybody asked questions, that I felt incapable of lying to his face. Telling the whole truth wasn't an option either, so I compromised.

'Working here gets hard sometimes'.

The surprises kept coming because to that he answered, 'you want to make it simpler, just say the word'.

Who the hell was this guy? He certainly didn't look like a cop, but he actually did look interested. Bartending at _Mike's_ for two years had turned me into a human bullshit detector, but for the life of me I couldn't find a chink in his armour. Was it possible that I had finally found a human being who gave a shit about someone else? There of all places?

And then Charlie joined our weird conversation uninvited.

'Hey handsome, you never told me your name. Wanna go for a second round in the alley? I'm out in an hour'.

Oh, so nothing new under the sun it seems. After that I tuned them off, turned around, and kept pouring for less misleading assholes until my shift was over.

Have I mentioned hope is a bitch?

* * *

 _Hi there guys. I just wanted to take a few more seconds of your time to properly thank you for reading, reviewing, following and marking this little experiment as a favourite of yours._

 _I came across FanFic at a quite dark time in my life and I am so grateful for all the stories I've read here, and how much they've helped me let my hair down and, you know, cope in general. So, here's my humble contribution to this awesome universe. Hope you like it!_


	6. Chapter 6

I swear, this girl has a death wish. She keeps poking the beast, AKA, me. Who am I kidding, I would never hurt her, at least not like that. God knows I've hurt her plenty in the past.

Anyway, since you may not know much about vampires, let me give you a hint, don't tell them they're lost puppies who don't know what the fuck they're doing. Ok, she didn't actually say 'lost puppy'. I told you, remember? she's not dumb. But it was implicit.

Look, I'm not proud, ok? I've been a lot of things, but never a cheater (I also told you that, keep up, will you?) Well, never say never, apparently. The funny thing is that the first time I felt like one was about two years ago. Yep, you guessed, about the same time I came back to the ever-welcoming arms of my alleged one true love and left Deirdre behind. How twisted is that, huh?

Elena called and I came home running without looking back once, because she needed me and Elena gets what Elena wants. It had always worked before, so that's what I did. The problem was that this time, the reason I didn't look back had beautiful sad eyes and had given me something that no one else had ever thrown my way. Had Deirdre asked, had she hugged me just once more with those wickedly warm and comforting hugs of hers that make you feel like you're the only man in the world—yes, I said man, not guy, not vampire, Man, with capital fucking M—I would have stayed. And back then I couldn't even contemplate what that meant. So I left her in the dust and came back, home crazy ass home.

She never complained, she didn't cry, she didn't even pull any passive-agressive bullshit to try and sway me, like watching from the doorway while I packed or sighing her heart out. She gave me my space and kept going about her day as if nothing had changed, as if it wasn't gutting her, as if I wasn't leaving her behind in the nightmare of a life she was trapped in. And I know she was hurting. I know because when I was finally on my way and chanced a look at my rearview mirror, I saw her crumple to the floor, right there on the porch. Knowing her, she probably thought I wouldn't look, I wouldn't see. She has always thought I care too little. The thing is I've always cared too fucking much.

For starters, that night so long ago, I shouldn't have given a shit that Miss Morality and her high horse didn't approve of me getting a go at the blond waitress. But as annoyed as I was that she simply turned around and left when I was trying to find out who had given her that black eye, I was even more pissed about the disappointment I saw in her eyes clear as day before she did. It's not like we're dating, honey.

My first thought was 'who cares?', I was leaving town that fucking night. My second thought was, 'I'm getting a piece of that before I go'. So she was a judgy prude, but she was smoking hot and still smelled tasty as hell. Baby, you're officially on the menu, don't want the good stuff that goes with it? Your loss.

I kept watching how she navigated the herd of fools that drooled all over the bar to get her attention. What an Ice Queen she was. While the rest of the girls were practically wearing a 'for sale' sign tattooed on their forefronts, there she was, acting as if she was too good for the crowd. Well, she certainly wasn't too good me, and I'd show her before the night was over.

The blonde kept pestering me until I compelled her not to say another word and to keep pouring, shitty bourbon I must say; the Queen must have kept the good stuff hidden. An hour later Baywatch Blondie's shift ended and a pretty redhead replaced her. The dance started over. Boring flirting, boring conversation, boring attempts to lure me in. A good choice for a bloodbag any other night, but not much else. Maybe I'd give it a try to see if she was better than her friend on her knees, that is, before going for my desert who was currently making such an effort to stay as far away as possible from my area.

The redhead poured for me (yeah, I know, I should stop calling them by their hair colour, but do I need to remind you about the chickens again? yep, thought not) and kept insisting that she wouldn't charge me for her other services. Jesus, what's with these chicks and their total lack of finesse. I was about to compel her to shut the fuck up and wait for me in the back alley when apparently she caught me looking at the other end of the bar. I must have been so out of my game for her to notice what I thought were subtle glances.

'Do you like the clothes?', she asked.

'Huh?', yeah, I wasn't expecting that one.

'The clothes she's wearing. She borrowed them from me, you know. She only owns jeans', she said the word 'jeans' as if it were the most disgusting thing ever.

'Does she, now?', why was I still having that conversation again?

'She thinks she's better than us, but the boss put her in her place. About time I say', so it seemed that I was going to get the information I wanted anyway.

'The boss's girl, huh? That's why she's so high and mighty?', hey, wipe that smile off your face, I'm a curious non-person, ok?

'The boss's girl? No way, why do you think she keeps getting the shit beaten out of her? She's too stuck-up to go through the "job interview"', I swear, she even made the fucking finger quotes.

'The job interview?', colour me curiouser and curiouser...

'You know, we all go through the boss first, so that he knows we're cut for the job. If you're good enough, you get to be behind the bar, if not, well, you have to go through the guys first. Ew!', so nothing new there, I had seen a thousand establishment like _Mike's_ , and that only on the East Coast. She kept going while I sipped my bourbon that suddenly tasted just a tad shittier.

'I was good enough, you know?', again that pitiful attempt at sultriness.

'Not interested. What about her?', yeah, I know I said I would take the redhead up on her offer, but I had lost my appetite.

'Deirdre? She's only the bartender, so no interview. You're wasting your time with her by the way. I haven't seen her leave with a guy in the two years I've been working here. But her ticket is coming, right up', she sing-songed the last part.

'How come?', if you're wondering why she didn't tell me to fuck off and left when I was obviously much more interested in someone else than in her, it's because I'm charming, that's why. No one says no to these eyes.

'Oh, the boss is done with her looking like a hobo. Mark my words, she's one beating away from finally caving in and starting sampling the clientele', at this she had the nerve of winking. I was so fucking done with that place.

I left a couple hundreds on the bar and left. I got as far as the parking lot.

See? I already cared too much about a girl I didn't know. If I had a dime for every hot girl that's caught my eye in the last two hundred years, let's just say I'd be even more loaded that I am. The difference was that I usually got what I wanted from them, no questions asked. Like literally, no questions. That's why I only remember a handful of names. But for some reason, that night I couldn't make myself get into my car and look for a bar that only served alcohol.

While I waited for Sad Eyes to come out I fed on a couple for good measure. I told you I wasn't a picky eater. Really, I did them a favour. They were having a hell of a fight because apparently the guy was getting too chummy with one of the waitresses. Enter your friendly vampire, a little blood donation, a little compulsion not to ever come back to that fucking place, and voilà! A happy couple leaves the scene.

I could smell her sweet scent from a mile away, so I was ready when she finally came through the door.

'Hey there, I meant it, you know? I can make it easier in an eyeblink', she looked equally startled and pissed off.

'You gotta be kidding me. The bourbon and the easy girls are inside, and lurking in the parking lot it's not giving you any brownie points either', she made to walk around me. Yeah, no chance of that.

'I don't lurk, I'm just naturally stealthy', I put my hands up in a pacifying gesture, but she didn't grace me with a smile, so I tried again.

'Listen', I paused for effect, 'Deirdre...', you would think I had just killed her puppy by the face she made.

'No, you listen', pause, 'Damon', wow, she was good. 'I'm just the bartender here, ok? I'm not offering anything else and I'm certainly not interested in anything you have to offer. I was just feeling unusually chatty and I thought you were here only for the drinks, my mistake'.

'Your outfit says otherwise', foot officially in my mouth.

'You know what? Fuck you, I don't need this shit today', and she again made to leave. Don't ask me why but I grabbed her arm, just like that moron, Ron, had done the night before, and she cried out. Now, I know my own strength, and I was just trying to stop her from leaving, so I was pretty sure I hadn't hurt her.

Without saying a word I lowered my hand and grabbed her wrist while I rolled her sleeve with my other hand. I didn't do it vampire style but I was still too fast for her to stop me. Unsurprisingly, there was a huge ugly bruise under the tight red fabric.

'What happened here?', I asked. She was looking at me stunned, as if she was amazed that someone was asking. Well, it lasted about two seconds before she started wriggling to get me off her. And that was a second longer than what it took me to hold her tighter and closer at the same time. And that was still half a second longer than what it took my pants to get really uncomfortable. What can I say, she was all curvy, and warm, and like a fucking magnet.

Her heartbeat went crazy, but the thing is she didn't smell like she was scared. And when her pupils dilated and the first telltale signs of fear made their appearance, it wasn't because of me. She looked at the building behind us and turned white as a sheet. Now, it takes a lot to shock me, but she was apparently a prodigy and managed to do it when she turned those sad, so sad eyes on me and whispered, 'run!'.

Wait, what?


	7. Chapter 7

I had decided I wanted this thing gone. I called Joe and asked her to meet at her and Ric's place to talk about it. It was supposed to be just the two of us, but she told Ric, and it took Ric about ten seconds to text Damon and tell him, what a snitch. When I got there he was already waiting with his navy blue button-up, his dark jeans hanging low on his hips, and his perfectly shaved face. You get the picture, right? That was Damon making things difficult by being his gorgeous self. I hadn't seen him for three whole days. It may not seem much, but I hate it when we fight, and the problem was that this time neither of us was going to give in and apologize.

He was looking at me and he was furious. And I must be sick in the head, because I found that so damn hot. You know, like I'm going to ride you till you pop hot. He noticed it, of course, because that's the thing with vampires, they're like damn bloodhounds. Ok, pun not intended, but they are. I was sort of counting down the seconds until his smug smirk made its appearance, but it didn't. He simply gave me a once-over so slow and sinful that left me panting.

I was wearing a red summer dress, nothing fancy. My hair was down and I barely wore any make-up. But the way he looked at me, God, how was I going to go through with my decision? He came closer, with that combination of graceful and threatening that is so uniquely his. I was already envisioning how he'd lift me up without saying a word and kiss the hell out of me. He would flash us out of there, and we'd be a mess of naked skin, and teeth, and hurt, and impossible futures, and perfect intimacy in no time.

I think his thoughts were going in that same direction, but then the door to our friends' apartment opened and the spell broke. Joe looked really uncomfortable standing on the doorway; I guess we were far too obvious for our own good. Not that Damon cared, because while I greeted Joe over his shoulder, he didn't even turn around, and kept looking at me as if he wanted to devour me. Which he had done so many times, over and over. I wouldn't change it for the world, but it had to end.

I walked around him to follow Joe inside, but couldn't stop myself and brushed my arm against his, just a barely there touch. He closed his eyes and breathed me in, as he likes to do, and suddenly I wasn't sure about what I was doing there anymore.

Joe was horrified when I told her I wanted to break the blood bond. Ric looked scared, mostly of what Damon would do. And Damon's silence was thundering. His jaw was ticking and I could physically feel his anger. How about that, another perk of the bond I guess. Joe tried to convince me that waiting was the wisest way to go, that there was much more to this than we thought. Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. As you can imagine, I didn't even dare to look at him. Especially when Joe insinuated that breaking the bond was dangerous and that I could end up dead. That's when the silence ended. Just with a word, 'No'. I was going to protest, but he didn't let me, 'No'.

And then his cell rang. Want to guess who it was? Yeah, that's right. And of course he answered and went into another room to talk. I thanked Joe, told her I would think about it and left.

He made his choice once and I don't need to force him to keep making it, because one day he might choose wrong, choose me. He would eventually regret it, and I know him so well that he wouldn't be able to hide it. That scares me more than dying. I wouldn't survive him leaving again, he already left two years ago. This thing we have is only an illusion, so fucking doomed.

I should have been faster. I should have run away from him when I could. In that parking lot at _Mike's_ , when he first touched me, when he first seemed to care, when he pulled me flush against his body and I couldn't breath without breathing him. I was high on all things Damon in an instant. Nothing would ever be the same for me.

Years from now, when I'm a wrinkled little lady, if I survive that long, that is, if anybody asks about the second my world changed, even if by then I don't remember my own name, I'll remember that moment. When I first looked into his eyes from close up and felt his cool breath on my face; the moment when, for the first time since I was a kid, I stopped being afraid; the moment just before the back door of the club opened and Ron came out finding us in a fairly compromising position.

I knew that they would beat me within an inch of my life for this. I didn't know what this would cost my beautiful stranger. Maybe he just came to _Mike's_ looking for a good time, maybe he acted exactly as the rest of the customers when he hooked up with Charlie, but he looked so lonely, who was I to judge, really. He didn't deserve to end up half-dead in an alley just for caring about a bruised arm, just for offering to help. So I told him to run, and I might as well have told him he had two heads because he couldn't have possibly looked more shocked.

Later, I would understand how silly I had been to worry about him, but right then I was puzzled. Well, at least until I saw Ron move with the subtlety of a charging rhino. He was on us in about five seconds but my stranger, who was not that much of a stranger any more, was cool as a cucumber, even when Ron grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to turn him around. I say try, because, well, you know, it's easier to turn around a wall than an unwilling vampire.

Those impossibly blue eyes didn't leave mine, as if he hadn't even noticed that a muscle mountain was forcefully trying to move him. His hands were still on me, and I was freaking out. Ron was going to kill him.

'Was it him?', he suddenly asked still looking at me. I understood what he meant.

'Only the arm', I answered.

'Well, you know how the saying goes', he let me go and turned around so fast that I almost fell on my ass, 'an arm for an arm'.

I didn't really see what happened next but I heard the sickening sound of a breaking bone. Please, don't ask how I know that sound. Ron started to scream and his right arm was hanging limp in an awkward impossible angle. Frankly, I was too astonished to be scared.

He grabbed Ron again and looking into his eyes he said, 'shut up'. And then silence. What the hell was going on? Oh, but he wasn't done.

'You won't touch her again, no matter what, you won't lay a single finger on her again, is that clear?'.

And to my utter surprise Ron answered meekly, 'I won't touch her again'.

'You didn't see her here, you came out looking for her but she was already gone', ok, seriously, who was this guy?

'I didn't see her here, she was gone', I was starting to believe I was high on something because this couldn't be happening.

'You tripped and fell on your arm. Now, go away before I change my mind and kill you', for some reason I didn't think he was joking.

'I tripped and fell on my arm', and with that, holding his broken arm he went peacefully towards the back door without looking back once.

I was alone in a parking lot with a fucking ninja who looked like a Greek god.

What. The. Hell.

He turned his attention to me then, full force.

'You didn't see him tonight. You came out here and invited me to follow you home so we could talk', I must have looked dazed because, well, because I was. Sort of. And then I started laughing. I laughed so hard that it hurt. I guess I was hysterical, too many emotions for my usually dull life. When I was finally able to focus, I looked at him and he seemed just as astonished as I was a minute before.

'Seriously, does that routine of yours work with everybody or what? I think that you need to break my arm first...', ok, I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth.

'Are you wearing vervain?', he started to circle around me, looking for something I guess. I suddenly remembered that I wasn't wearing much and wasn't in the mood for an inspection either.

'Vervain? Isn't that a spice? Do I look like I'm going to start a lasagna any minute now?', yeah, I do know you don't need vervain to make a lasagna, ok? I was just being witty. Be kind, will you? I had just seen him break a guy's arm with no warning.

After that he stopped circling me like a vulture, and instead pierced me with those wicked eyes.

'What the hell are you?', he asked fascinated.

'A Pisces?', I had officially entered Oz.

He looked amused, but then raised his head as if he was listening to the air.

'Someone's coming, we've got about two minutes before one of your co-workers finds us here. Do you want to risk it or you'd rather come with me?', oh no handsome, I'm not falling for that.

'Listen, I need to get home, ok? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about what happened here... whatever it was. It's just, look, you seem nice and all but I'm not supposed to talk to men, especially not alone and in the parking lot. So thanks, but trust me, this is a very bad idea', I smiled briefly, you know, to soften the blow, and headed to my car wishing things were different.

He didn't try to stop me again, and just as I was leaving my parking place I saw that he was right and a group of girls had just ended their shift and was getting out of the club through the back door. How had he heard that?

I didn't see his car and I assumed that he had gone back in to look for someone who was more willing to let him follow her home. I was wrong.

Twenty minutes later I was parking in my driveway. As I looked for my keys I saw a blue muscle car parking just around the corner. I went in as quickly as I could and locked the door behind me.

Upstairs, while I lay on my bed incapable of falling asleep, I started to wonder what would happen were he to actually knock on my door.

As if I didn't know the answer.

* * *

 _Guys, I'm blow away by your response to this story._

 _I know it may not seem much for some of the great authors here, but more than 200 people have read what I've written, and I feel honoured and humbled that you have chosen to spend your time with this particular version of Damon and this sad girl called Deirdre. Thank you so much!_


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes I hate my girlfriend. There, I said it. It lasts just a few seconds, and right after I feel like a son of a bitch for thinking like that, for feeling like that, for what I'm doing. So, I keep going.

Elena doesn't do it on purpose, I'm sure she doesn't, but since her bloodlust has gone all haywire, I need to be permanently on call. She was good at controlling it at first, how long ago was it? Yeah, about four or five years ago. Once the sire thing was over we even had our happily ever after. For about ten minutes at least. Then I died, came back, and we had an actual chance at making it; that is, after she finally recovered her memories of me. Oh, haven't I mentioned that? She loved me so much that she decided to erase me. Sounds logical, right? Couldn't she just flip her switch like any sane vampire would do? Anyway, I digress.

Things have changed now. She usually has no problem but sometimes her emotions get the best of her and that's when every human starts looking like Alice's Eat Me cake. She's killed a few people already, not like I'm keeping count, but then she feels like shit and needs her boyfriend's moral support. Yep, that's me.

It's not like I don't understand; I've been around my brother long enough to see what eternal regret does to your hairdo. It's just that in the last two years her 'oh my God I ate someone' breakdowns always happen at the most inopportune of times.

Yep, you guessed, again. Look at you, you're on a roll! She had the first one about two years ago. Six months after she dumped me to be precise. She called and asked me to come home. I played hard to get for all of two minutes, and that's when she told me that she had killed someone because she missed me too much, and how much of a mistake breaking up with me had been, yadda yadda yadda. I told her that I'd be there the next day. Then I turned around.

Deirdre had the night off and we were about to watch a movie, which back then was code for watching like five minutes of it, starting feeding each other popcorn, and ending up very naked and blissfully satisfied on the couch with no idea whatsoever about what had happened in the movie. I can still see her standing next to the kitchen doorway in her 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' cute PJs and holding a huge bowl of popcorn.

She tried to smile and it fucking broke my heart, because there they were again, those sad eyes. I hadn't seen them in a while, and right then I realized that being responsible for putting a sparkle in them had been my greatest accomplishment in life. That is, until I fucked up and picked up the damn phone.

So, history repeats itself, and today of all days, just when I was about to drag Deirdre out of Ric's apartment caveman style, you know, to make my point that there's no fucking way I'm letting her risk her life for this shit, Elena called. And of course I picked up.

When she started questioning me about where I was and asking me to take her out to dinner and make sweet love to her (her words, not mine) over dessert, I left the room so I could stall and find a way out of that one, because that red dress Deirdre was wearing was too much to pass up on, and yeah, I'm a bastard and this is exactly what I said I wouldn't do again. So much for 'I'm not a cheater', right?

Elena kept going on in my ear about how awful her day had been because her professor hated her, and she was seriously contemplating compulsion, but she didn't know what to do because she knew it was morally wrong, and would it be ok if she just compelled him to like her without tampering with her grades? Of course I was paying far more attention to what was being said in the other room.

Joe had gone up several notches in my book by trying to convince Deirdre that we needed to know more before acting rashly. This shows what this girl does to me, because I'm the fucking king of acting rashly, and here I am, rooting for patience, yikes! But then Elena noticed that I was distracted and didn't like it one bit. I could practically hear a meltdown in the making, so I tuned off the conversation I really wanted to be a part of, and started my reassuring routine. You should see me, I'm a master by now.

I finally managed to dodge the crisis by promising to pick her up later for some boyfriend-girlfriend time. Yep, that bitter taste in my mouth had to be bile. Because it wasn't when I fantasized about fucking Deirdre into the wall in that innocent sexy outfit she was wearing that I felt like one of the dirty dirty cheats of the world. No, I'm not quoting Taylor Swift, and I'll kill anyone who says I am. It was in that moment, when I promised Elena dinner and sex, that I wanted the fucking earth to open up and swallow me whole.

To no one's surprise, when I got back to the living room Deirdre was already gone. Apparently she had agreed to think a bit more about this. As if I didn't know her. You see, she's a weird combination of stubborn ass and shocking unexpected decisions. You're probably thinking that I'm one to talk, right? After all, this whole thing started because I couldn't leave a stunning girl with a smart mouth and a wicked knowledge of bourbon to her own devices.

I made the mistake of breathing her in one too many times, I guess. That bruise in her arm had me seeing red. I barely refrained from laughing at the mouth-breathing moron who tried to catch me unawares, but my humor went down the drain when she confirmed what I had already guessed. It was his manhandling that had marked her arm.

Now, I've never been accused of being anybody's white knight. Not even when I was running around saving Elena's ass from every supernatural overlord that turned her into the center of their evil plan. Hell, back then I was the villain just as often as I was the mildly-good guy. I've said it once and again, I'm a monster, ok? I'm not exactly proud of it, but I'm not ashamed either. Once upon a time I chose this because I thought I knew what love was. I thought it was about doing anything and everything for that one person that loves you back, without any regard for losing yourself in the process. Because the reward would be an eternity of not being alone, of someone understanding who I was. Only, it wasn't.

I blamed my brother for so long for forcing me into this life, but that was petty and shortsighted. He may have flaunted that poor bleeding girl in front of a starving vampire wannabe, but had Katherine been with me I would have laid the fucking town to waste in her bloody name. Sorry bro, I screwed up.

So being my usual 'I don't give a shit about humans' self, it still amazes me that that night I was deciding whether to simply break the moron's arm for marring that soft skin or to take more drastic measures. I blame Deirdre, she messed with my head since the very beginning. That's why it's so ridiculous to think that I'm acting against my own will because of the bond we share. Back then I had come nowhere near her blood, and there I was, saving the damsel who thought she couldn't be saved.

The damsel that laughed in my face the second time I tried to compel her. Therefore, vervain, right? There were not many places where she could be hiding it, and holy hallelujah for that, I kept thinking to myself while I circled my delicious prey. Although she could be drinking it, of course. But either she was the best actress ever, like Oscar-worthy good, or she didn't have a clue of the most unorthodox uses of vervain. So, what was she? Apparently, a Pisces, and funny to boot.

Too bad she kept blowing me off while luring me in. I won't deny that it was nice to see someone scared on my behalf instead of scared of what I might do, or say, or who I might kill. And she was, scared for me and not of me, I mean, because apparently she wasn't supposed to talk to men. Well, your life sucks then baby, because you're a bartender.

So, naturally, I followed her home, and wasn't subtle about it either. Vampire, remember? I could have sneaked into the back of her car and she wouldn't have noticed. But I wanted her to. Some cruel, sadistic part of me or, you know, basically me, wanted to see if I could scare her off.

She saw me, how could she not in an empty street at 1 AM? She went inside a two-story house fairly quickly, locking herself inside. Yet I didn't feel that vibe, that smell of fear in the air that we predators crave. She would have been fully justified, vampire or not I was totally stalking her at that point.

I stayed the night, and that's something else that should have given me the hint that I needed to get as far away from that town as possible. Because I hate sleeping in my car.

It was still early when she left, for the mall if you must know; I do because I followed her, this time a little bit more subtly. I didn't want her to call the cops on me after all; that would lead to a lot of compulsion and I wasn't in the mood. A pair of old dark jeans did a poor job of concealing how mouthwatering she was, but I wasn't going to spend my day watching a girl go on a shopping spree; been there, done that, got the headache.

So I went back to that godawful motel and enlisted the services of the perky receptionist who happily followed me to my room. No compulsion needed. See? I didn't even mention her hair color…mostly because I don't remember.

I had breakfast—thank you very much sweetie—and believe me, she wanted to have hers but, here's the second sign that getting out of dodge was a must, I didn't even let her undo my belt and sent her on her way instead. At the moment I thought that it was because I was annoyed at the girl because she had ripped my shirt off in her rush to get to the good parts, and I really liked that shirt.

I stopped fooling myself that same night, when I went back to _Mike's_ and saw my beautiful sad girl in sexy leather shorts. Her back was turned to me, and I was going to send a fruit basket to whomever had lent her those. Her boss might be an asshole but she had decided to comply and was totally pulling the classy-slutty look off.

When she turned around with her bouncy hair done in fucking pigtails, I learned one of the key things to understanding my baby: no matter the cost, she always gets the last word.

Her T-shirt read, 'Not interested'.


End file.
